Turmoil

Day 64. Friday.

I’ve slept on it and decided I’ll have to ask Vera for her version of events, woman to woman, two friends together. It’s the only way to lay the ghost of Sonya’s ramblings. Should I tell her the full Sonya version? We could have a laugh about it.

I didn’t. You can’t laugh about the death of two destitute alcoholics, who had once been the kindest, softest villagers -  according to village lore that is. I’d never known them and only spoken to them the few times this summer.

The walk up to the House after work that day was the loneliest I’d known. I didn’t notice the late summer colours forming, the swifts collecting on the electricity cables, chattering and practising their departure, the squirrels hunting nuts, and the chill in the air as the autumn mists collected over the sea. It must have all been there. It’s there every October. This was the first October that I had carried such a